


irato

by ginkyou



Category: Mozart! - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angry Boners, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Colloredo has anger management issues, Hatesex, M/M, Mozart can't keep his mouth shut, in which colloredo thinks about murder more often than any archbishop probably should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginkyou/pseuds/ginkyou
Summary: In which Colloredo has a bone to pick with Mozart if you know what I mean, wink wink nudge nudge. Forever unfinished abandoned WIP.





	irato

**Author's Note:**

> _irato_ : A directive to a musician to perform a specific passage in an agitated manner, as if irate, angry, or passionate; angrily.
> 
> Please note that this is a WIP from 2016 that will never be finished -- most of the action is there but some dialogue is still missing and it's all pretty barebones and awkward. Idk if I'll even keep this up tbh so idk read it while you can i guess

A gentle breeze drifted through Mozart's apartment. It was a warm night, just too hot to sleep but refreshing enough to work in, and through the open windows of his apartment he could hear the bells of St. Peter strike midnight. Just like any other night, he was spending the darkest hours of the day working on a new composition. Thankfully, his concerts and the students he had taken under his wing for music lessons were paying enough that he could afford all of the candles he was using (and even if they weren’t, he could always write another letter to his father and ask him for more money).

His composition had not yet been titled, but already dedicated.  _ Hieronymus Joseph etc. _ , Mozart had scribbled over the first line. Two weeks ago he had been literally kicked out of the Archbishop's residence, and ever since Mozart had found himself unable to focus on his music. His thoughts kept wandering as his quill scraped over the paper. It was always the same image his mind drifted to – the Archbishop in a state of undress, roaring at him in all his furious glory.

Maybe, Mozart pondered, his own declaration of freedom had been a bit too hasty.

The candles on his windowsill flickered. The movement drew his eyes towards the stack of letters he’d set down at the furthermost corner of his desk, as far away from his line of sight as possible. Bills. Letters demanding money, time, energy. He needed to teach, to compose, and could not spend his time drifting off like this, especially not while thinking about a man he hated more than he hated, say, not having money. He sprinkled sand over the last page of his newest composition. Something needed to be done. No more nights dedicated to Colloredo, no more music dreamed up while thinking of the man’s voice. Mozart put the paper aside to let it dry fully, weighing it down with his ink pot. He pulled out a fresh page, dipped his quill into the ink, and began to draw up a letter.

 

Colloredo was still fuming. The insult of his last meeting with his then-personal composer still burned freshly in his mind. Hearing that Mozart had sent him a letter had only made him angrier. He had almost ordered his servants to tear the letter up without so much as looking at it. The only thing that had kept him from doing so was that there had been several sheets of music paper attached to it, and when he had glanced at the unfinished score he had been struck by how brilliant it was, even for Mozart. In his never ending benevolence, Colloredo had decided to give the letter a chance.

According to his grovelling letter, Colloredo's former composer was barely keeping himself alive by giving music lessons to the people of Vienna and was increasingly desperate to mend the worst of his insults. As such, he had written a personal composition specifically for Colloredo, hoping that it would appease him. If the attached first drafted pleased him, he would bring him the rest of the score in person.

Colloredo scoffed at the letter. The writing was as clumsy as the rest of the boy, begging for forgiveness with terrible phrases and even worse spelling, the paper littered with scratched-out mistakes and ink blots. This letter alone would get Mozart nobody's forgiveness, let alone Colloredo's. Yet the composition  _ was _ a work of art. It would be a shame to let it go just because he didn't like the boy, and after all, to forgive was divine. He would have one last meeting with Mozart, Colloredo decided. He would mercifully accept his humble gift of good virtue and then he could finally wipe his hands of this whole affair and would never have to see this boy again.

 

Colloredo looked at his clock. 10 past 10. A deep, annoyed sigh escaped his lips and he reached up to massage the side of his jaw, his muscles hurting from exasperation. Mozart was a whole fifteen minutes late. Not that Colloredo was surprised, of course, he hadn’t exactly expected anything else from the-- the door sprang open. A flurry of white stormed into the room. Before Colloredo could even say a single word, Mozart had rushed to him and had shoved the rest of the score into his hands.

Colloredo glanced at the pages quickly, too quickly, could see the pride already spreading on Mozart’s face. It was apparent that the finished version was even better than the first draft. This was a work of art, a piece of music that would be remembered for ages, and it had his name on it. His hands tightened, fingers threatening to bend the paper. No, he had to resist the lure of Mozart's music. He forced his eyes to slow their rapid pace, perusing instead of devouring the notes, thumbing through the pages with about as much enthusiasm as if it was some peasant's lowly petition, and finally threw the composition aside. Mozart froze up in shock. The look of disbelief on the boy’s face – visibly sleep-deprived, although a lot more well-fed than he had wailed about in his letter – was  _ incredibly  _ satisfying to Colloredo.

“His work is nothing more than common. Any person knowing their music could write something like it. Just yesterday, I received three scores far more significant and thought-out than this,” Colloredo said, waving his hand at Mozart to signify that he should be leaving. Mozart sputtered bewilderedly. The surprise in his eyes was quickly being replaced by anger.

“Of course Your Grace wouldn't appreciate it,” Mozart spat as he began to gather up the pages. “This score is too exalted for even the Pope to understand.” The last page was still in Colloredo's hands. Mozart tore it out of his fingers, hissing a “prick” under his breath. That was more than enough. Colloredo stood up, an imposing figure compared to Mozart's slender frame.

“Repeat that,” Colloredo barked. He looked like he was about to bite Mozart's head off. Mozart straightened himself slowly, almost shaking with rage, and met Colloredo's angry stare. Mozart's face was twisted in anger. They both paused for a few seconds, the hate-filled, tense silence only broken by their enraged breathing. The longer they looked into each other's eyes, the more Colloredo could feel his jaw muscles clench. Something about the way the boys' eyelashes fluttered when he blinked made him furious.

Mozart's features softened as he forced himself to slow his breathing and smile. Colloredo stared at his mouth, so smug and sure of himself, as Mozart repeated, softly but with perfect diction, stressing every letter: “Prick.”

Colloredo's head was swirling with rage. He couldn't even come up with a decent response, all he wanted to do was punch the boys' smile right out of his face. He wanted him thrown out of his residence, and if possible out of all of Vienna, and Salzburg too. He wanted to break his hands so that he would never be able to write another one of his godforsaken symphonies again, and he knew that God would forgive him for it because this man was an affront to all things holy. Colloredo's eyes wandered from Mozart’s lips to his chin and from there to his jawline and every feature just made him more and more angry.

Breaking Colloredo's enraged trance and surprising them both, Mozart shot forward, grabbing Colloredo's coat and pulling them together into a kiss. Colloredo felt hot surprise run through him as he felt his own lips readily parting in response, teeth almost crashing against Mozart’s, the taste of wine and coffee filling his mouth. Then his brain kicked in. Colloredo pulled back and shoved Mozart off roughly.

“How dare he--,” Colloredo spat out, too shocked to even be able to properly put into words what had just happened. Mozart had already come up with a reply too good not to interrupt him.

“Oh great Mufti, forgive my sins,” Mozart began, but Colloredo had already had enough. He cut Mozart off with a forceful kiss, biting at his mouth and clawing at his shirt. They stumbled a few feet back until Mozart's back hit the door, slamming it shut. Colloredo buried his fingers in Mozart's hair, grabbing it by the handful, their bodies grinding against each other. Mozart moaned into Colloredo's mouth and Colloredo responded by pulling him even closer, reveling in the way Mozart's body shuddered under him as he pressed him against the wooden panelling of the door.

Colloredo dug his teeth into Mozart's lips and the boy yelped as the flesh tore. Mozart recoiled, pressing a hand to his mouth. When he pulled it away, there was blood trickling down his chin. It looked beautiful on Mozart's porcelain skin, Colloredo thought. Colloredo could taste it in his mouth as he licked his teeth. They both stared at each other like two wild animals preparing to rip each others faces off, their chests heaving, teeth bared. Mozart's pupils were dilated to a point where his clear blue eyes looked almost black. Neither of them dared to move. They both felt that this could turn into a physical fight at any moment. In a way, it already  _ was _ a fight.

Colloredo's hands, shaking with hatred, hovered just above the fabric of Mozart's shirt, not daring to touch him because the slightest touch would make this whole thing spiral out of control. Part of him  _ wanted _ it to, as he craved nothing more than being able to take his anger out on Mozart, but he was still an Archbishop and a prince and as such he rationally knew he he had to keep his calm for the sake of his pride and dignity. He could feel his face burning, and Mozart's pale cheeks too were colored unusually pink. Colloredo's heart was beating faster than ever before, and some of the fluid it was pumping went to regions he would have rather it didn't. He blamed the hardness between his legs on the way his blood roared through his veins and he  _ hated _ Mozart for it.

“Get out,” Colloredo breathed, his voice low and dangerous. His whole body was trembling. If Mozart said another word, Colloredo would in all likelihood explode like a lit bag of gunpowder, taking Mozart and himself and the rest of the room with him.

Mozart did not get out just yet. In fact, he felt like he  _ could not _ get out. The physical closeness between them held him in place – the anger, the tension, Colloredo's breath on his lips. Even though he had known before that he wanted the Archbishop, it almost scared him how much he craved him now. Colloredo seemed to feel the same for him, judging from the fact that Mozart could literally feel his desire pressing against him. Mozart very decidedly did not want to give Archbishop the pleasure and satisfaction of being able to feed his hunger.

“Gladly,” Mozart finally answered. His hand had already found the door handle. He half bowed in a way that made Colloredo wish it was legal for him to just kill the boy right then and there.

(Mozart quips some insinuation about how Colloredo doesn’t  _ look  _ like he wants him to leave)

“How dare he even think I would give in to such sins,” Colloredo snarled at Mozart, his fingers speedily opening button after button of Mozart's shirt, exposing his skin.

“Looks to me like you are already giving in to your sin,” Mozart replied, leaning forward a bit to give Colloredo better access to his clothes. Colloredo did not let Mozart's remark slow him down.

“These carnal desires are beneath me,  _ he _ is beneath me, how  _ dare _ he, I am a man of God,” Colloredo continued, his hands tearing Mozart's clothing from his body, almost ripping his shirt as he pulled it off. He cut Mozart off with another kiss before the boy could make any further terrible jokes. When his mouth wasn't busy silencing Mozart and inflicting even more damage to his lips, Colloredo continued to fling angry sentence fragments at him while stripping him, barking at him about how he would have him arrested and executed for these vicious attacks on his person and virtue and that he would have him trialed for sodomy, growing more and more enraged with every article of clothing he managed to tear off Mozart's body.

Mozart assisted him in undressing him and shed his last articles of clothing on his own, pulling off his own boots and pants until he was standing before Colloredo entirely naked. Colloredo admired the boy's body, his skin so pale it almost looked translucent. His slender frame was a work of art, somehow having both visible bones and toned muscles, although Coloredo could probably literally snap the boy in two if he wanted to. Mozart looked up at him, a smile on his lips, and put his hands around Colloredo's still fully clothed waist, sliding his fingers over the golden decorations on his justaucorps.

Colloredo couldn't take it anymore. He pulled Mozart over to his desk and pushed him down against the tabletop, opening the buttons of his own breeches and pulling the fall-front down as quickly as he could. Mozart kept his mouth running at full speed the entire time. Colloredo positioned himself to enter Mozart. This would probably be quite painful for the boy, but hurting him was all he wanted to do.

A long moment passed. Staring at the man bent over the desk before him, Colloredo felt torn. No matter how much he wanted to do this, it was still a sin, a big one at that.

“What now, His Holiness is frightened of an ass?,” Mozart asked against the table. He craned his neck to look back at Colloredo. “Behold, the great Archbishop, brought to a stand-still by a mere composer's backside!” Colloredo flinched and shoved Mozart's face into the table instead of replying.

Colloredo frowned and looked down at himself, a noticeable protrusion visible in his undershirt. He tentatively slid a hand under it, still holding Mozart down on the table with the other. It wasn't like this wasn't a sin either, but he was sure that somehow this was excusable, or at least forgivable, even though he probably would have to pray a couple of thousand Hail Marys to make up for it.

(Mozart says some more dumb shit.) Colloredo knew he had to do something against it if he wanted to enjoy this at all.

Colloredo yanked Mozart up by the hair, the boy making a surprised noise at the sudden pain, and forced him down onto his knees. Colloredo gripped the nape of Mozart's neck firmly. Mozart knew where this was going, opening his mouth expectantly. He gladly closed his lips around Colloredo's cock, happily sucking and licking away. This was definitely a lot more pleasant, now that the boy was finally quiet. Occasionally, when he thought of a particularly great pun, Mozart tried to talk around Colloredo's cock. Mozart was surprisingly good at this – not that Colloredo had much of a frame of reference, not usually favoring people of his own gender.

Colloredo could see that Mozart, too, was not unaffected by what was happening. He was hard enough that Colloredo assumed he must be in pain. Colloredo shifted against the table, steadying himself against it, Mozart following him and touched Mozart's cock with the tip of his boot. Mozart moaned around his cock. Colloredo sneered down at him as Mozart slid his hands down to touch himself, cock straining against Colloredo's boot. At least it didn't seem to distract him from what he was doing with his mouth, and as Mozart brought himself closer, already dangerously close to climax, he paid extra attention to Colloredo's cock.

Colloredo pulled Mozart off his cock and held him in place with one hand, the fingers laced tightly into Mozart's hair, while he finished himself off with the other. Colloredo came on his face, thrusting into his hand and still gripping Mozart's hair tightly. Mozart continued, the pace of his hand quickening, his half-lidded eyes still focused on Colloredo who steadied himself on the desk. He came not too long afterward, with a grin on his face. If Colloredo had not just had the orgasm of his life he would have punched his teeth in.

Colloredo let go of Mozart's hair and Mozart let himself fall to the side, dissolving into giggles. Colloredo found the energy to kick him. Mozart broke into laughter, curling up and holding his stomach. Colloredo stormed off, still in the middle of pulling up his pants, shouting for his guards.


End file.
